


oh, baby when you talk like that (you make a woman go mad)

by spidermanhomecomeme



Series: Thotumn Leaves [1]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Bad Dirty Talk, Bad Jokes, Cheesy, Domestic, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Peter Parker is a thot, bad euphemisms, like really bad, on the first day of thotumn my true love gave to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:13:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27329350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spidermanhomecomeme/pseuds/spidermanhomecomeme
Summary: the five times Peter made MJ laugh during sex, and the one time she made him.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: Thotumn Leaves [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995361
Comments: 71
Kudos: 166
Collections: Peter Parker's Thotumn 2020





	oh, baby when you talk like that (you make a woman go mad)

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S THOTUMN Y'ALL!!!!! I am so excited to share this with you guys. This is v based on the headcanon of Peter being good at dirty talk, but me thinkin.... sure, but let's make him be really bad at it on purpose bc it makes MJ laugh 
> 
> in other words, i am a huge sap and these two are GOOFBALLS
> 
> enjoy!!

i.

“What did you just say?”

Her breathy laugh melts into a wet moan, nails digging into Peter’s bicep as his fingers bury themselves inside her.

She can feel his stupid grin against her neck. “What are you talking about?” His tone is the very air of innocence, but Michelle knows better than to label anything he does as  _ innocent _ . This is Peter she’s with. Everything he does to her, he does with intention. 

“What you—ah!—“ she hisses, squeezing her eyes shut when his thumb presses against her clit. “ _ Fuck _ —Just said.”

“You’re gonna have to remind me,” he teases, curling his fingers as he pumps them in and out. He has the nerve—the  _ audacity _ —to snicker when she gives him a light smack on his other arm. “Sorry! I’m a little distracted.”

He really punctuates that statement with a few harder thrusts of his hand as his mouth leaves heated, wet kisses down the column of her throat, the dip in her chest, the underside of her left breast. 

_ “Shit _ —Flavortown?” She asks incredulously, only able to glare at him a moment before her head’s falling back against the pillow as his tongue finds her nipple, taking it into his mouth. 

He grins against her chest. “Oh, yeah I guess I did say that.” When she doesn’t say anything else, he looks up at her, lips twisted into a mischievous smirk that she can’t decide if she hates or not. “What? It’s my favorite place to eat out.”

“Peter—” 

“—Truly delicious,” he cuts her off, kissing the tips of his fingers like some kind of chef. “It’s got the best pie.”

How this idiot can still manage to make her laugh while knuckle deep inside of her, she doesn’t know. 

ii.

One of Michelle’s favorite things in the world has to be Peter’s expression as he watches her drop to her knees in front of him. The way his eyes widen ever-so-slightly, the way his lips part, the corners twitching upward into an easy grin. It’s always as if it’s the first time she’s done it, like he’s still at least a little bit surprised that she’s about to suck him off—always wondering how he got so lucky. 

She’s currently locked in a staring contest with the tent in his boxers, her hands running up and down his thighs, unable to completely bite back her smirk as his muscles tense under her touch. It’s only when one of his own hands comes to rest on her cheek, his thumb lovingly smoothing over her skin, that she looks up at him from under her lashes. 

But she’s surprised to find that instead of lust in his expression, it’s a mild concern. 

“You’re feeling a little warm, babe,” he says slowly, carefully, brows knit together. 

Her smirk twitches into a casual frown. “Uh… I mean. Probably because I wanna fuck, but yeah.” 

He huffs out a laugh, only showing some amusement at her bluntness. “No, I mean like you’re getting a fever.” 

And as sincere as he sounds, Michelle’s known Peter long enough to hear that he’s up to something. 

“Lemme take your temp—”

She narrows her eyes, fairly sure that she knows where he’s going with this; especially when he doesn’t move to get up; instead, sticking his hand under the waistband of his boxers and, quite literally, whipping his dick out. 

“—with my trusty meat thermometer.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, she somehow wonders if she could have seen this coming. 

The answer is most likely yes. She could have. 

When she meets his eyes, she can see he’s trying desperately not to laugh at his own joke, and she’s almost ashamed to find herself in the same boat. “I hate you,” she says with all the love in the world. 

“I’m just trying to help you,” he insists. “I don’t want you to be sick! Now,” he pumps himself a few times. “Say ‘Ah’—”

He chokes on his own words, effectively shut up when—without warning—she takes him fully into her mouth. 

iii.

It’s always been a mystery why the old lady from next door always gives them the stink eye, but now, as Peter fucks MJ into the mattress, not showing any concern for how hard the headboard’s hitting the wall that’s no doubt shared with their neighbor’s bedroom...

It’s pretty clear why Phyllis hates them so damn much. 

Frankly, though, Michelle’s surprised the old lady can even hear. 

And… well, she’s not sure she cares all that much, especially when Peter’s hands move to her ass, grip tight, tilting her hips and hitting a new angle that causes her brain to go all fuzzy, her jaw to drop, a sputtering sigh to push past her lips. 

_ “God,  _ you feel so good around me, Em,” Peter mutters, the roughness in his voice causing her ears to burn as he relentlessly fucks into her. “So fucking warm,” he breathes, emphasizing each word with a roll of his hips against hers. 

_ “Fuck—” _ Michelle chokes on her own words when his hand comes to her center, scrubbing furiously in time with his thrusts. 

Though, if she could maybe get a single sentence out, she’d definitely agree with him.

For now, all she can manage is breathy curses, whines, and moans. 

“I love being inside you,” he continues, always the chattier one in bed, though she never minds. She can feel him smile against her neck as he breathes in. It’s one that she instantly recognizes. 

The one that says he’s about to say something stupid. 

“Being inside your cozy abode…”

There are two things at that moment that keep her from just pushing him off the bed. One, just being the way he snaps his hips into her, hitting that spot  _ so fucking well _ . And two, being how hard she laughs in spite of herself. 

And in that next instant, she thanks whatever higher power exists for giving her someone who can make her laugh as hard as he makes her cum. 

iv.

He’d come in from the rain, drenched from head to toe after having forgone his trusty umbrella, waving off the weatherman’s warning about the upcoming storm. Of course, he’d be home before anything hit, he’d told her.

And she hadn’t said anything when he’d returned hours later, shoes squeaking with each step, his lips twisted into a dramatic pout coming in from the storm, his curls matted against his forehead; she’d kept to herself and her book, curled comfortably into the mattress, knees tucked to her chest.

_ “I’m cold,” _ he’d said.  _ “Warm me up?” _

Naïvely, she’d agreed—only after making him change out of his soaked t-shirt and jeans and into a fresh pair of gray sweats—letting him cuddle up against her as she continued to read. 

_ “You just look uncomfortably wet,” _ she’d commented, wrinkling her nose. 

And then, there was that stupid smirk. 

_ “Yeah, you’d know how that feels wouldn’t you?” _ He’d replied with a mischievous grin. 

v.

“Sometimes I feel like a DJ when I do this,” Peter mutters, not looking up from the task at hand. Literally. He’s laying between her thighs, one hiked over his shoulder as he rests on his stomach, two fingers swirling over her swollen clit.

Michelle almost doesn’t hear him. She cracks an eye open, lifting her head from the pillow to look down at him curiously. “What?” 

To show what he means, he uses the same two fingers to rub once. Twice. Three times. 

Complete with sound effects. 

_ “Wiki wiki wiki— _ ”

“PETER.”

“DJ FLAVORTOWN.”

+i.

Peter can’t help but think about how lucky he is to get to love someone like MJ. How lucky he is to get to hold her every night after patrol, to get to come home and kiss her until they fall asleep. 

And, especially at this moment—leaning back against the headboard, his arm draped over his eyes, feeling her warm breath fanning over his hard length as she teases him, planting feather-light kisses as she goes—how lucky he is that she loves him even with his own brand of “dirty talk.”

He lets out a shuddering sigh, squeezing his eyes shut under his arm as she licks a long, slow stripe up his length.

But then, right when he thinks she’s about to take him into her mouth, he feels her freeze just above him, her lips ghosting over the head of his cock. She stays there for a moment, and he feels her grip his base, her thumb smoothing over the skin there. 

Two of her fingers trail up his length, tapping at his tip. “Is this thing on?” 

And there’s nothing Peter can do to stop the undignified snort from coming out of him. He opens his eyes, his heart—among other things—swelling seeing the way she’s trying not to laugh. 

“Peter,” She says with mock sincerity into the dick-mic. “You get me moister than an oyster.”

Another surprised laugh bursts out of him, one of his hands coming up to grab his chest. “Is this revenge?” He asks, amusement twinkling in his eyes. 

She gives a nonchalant shrug, but she doesn’t answer his question, still trying to keep it together as she continues with the gag. “Will Peter make me a twinkie or a toaster strudel tonight? Find out in five minutes.” 

“Hey!” 

“Fine. Six minutes.”

His pout melts away when she plants another wet kiss on his head. 

“Okay. Find out in at least fifteen minutes.” 

“Ha.” Peter’s fake laugh comes out more breathy than he’d ever intended. He shakes his head. 

“Thank you, I’ll be here all night.” She throws him a wink, though she’s still barely able to keep the act up without bursting into fits of laughter. 

And as he watches her goof off, he can’t help but bite his lip, unable to suppress his warm smile, his chest flaring with want and love for her. After a moment, she notices him staring—and also still very hard in her hand. 

“Is this for real turning you on?” She asks, almost incredulously, her toothy grin infectious. 

“I mean, yeah,” Peter replies honestly, reaching a hand out to take the one of hers not wrapped around him. “It’s you. You could probably say anything and it’d sound hot.”

And Michelle can’t help but look down bashfully at that, twisting her lips in a desperate attempt to maintain a blank expression. She fails, obviously. “I love you,” she says.

He dramatically rolls his eyes back into his head. “Ugh. See?” He breaks though, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he laughs, cracking a smile. 

“So, like if I started just being really scientific with it?” Her voice is monotone as she starts to pump him slowly. “Oh baby, I want the contents of your seminal vesicle. Is your erectile tissue engorging with blood?”

She can’t tell if his eye roll is from exasperation or pleasure, but it still makes her heart flutter all the same. He reaches down to take her free hand in his, squeezing gently. 

“I love you, too.”


End file.
